Gentled
by Hidden Relevance
Summary: How would you make a wild thing your own? Would you break him to your will, or gentle him to your hand? A TristanOC everywoman story.
1. The Hawk

**Note: I've written this series around a very vague main female character for a reason. It's intended to let anyone see themselves as the object of Tristan's affection. **

**Let me know if it works- reviews are love!**

A shout of laughter caught her attention as she carefully wiped down the battered tables. She allowed herself a glance and a shy smile at the men sitting out in the sun. It was a rare afternoon in the fort: all of the Sarmatian knights were actually within the walls. The woads had apparently chosen to stay on their side of Hadrian's Wall, and the knights' patrols had been brief. Now, of course, the men had congregated at their favorite establishment- the tavern. They'd actually dragged a pair of the tables out of the bar and into the air, relishing in the shining sun. That, too, was rare for Britain. She'd often heard the foreign knights complain that there was only ever rain, and if not rain, snow, and if not snow, fog.

A sharp cry split the air, and she looked up in surprise as a hawk fluttered down to land on one particular knight's shoulder. She sighed; now that was truly a sight. Of all the knights, Sir Tristan, he of few words and a wild gaze, was the only one who'd truly caught her eye. Watching the knight and his hawk, she thought she'd never seen a pair more at one with each other. She moved her gaze to the table before him, noting that he hadn't eaten. She would get him something to eat; that would be as decent an excuse to approach him as any.

She turned to the kitchen and found herself shoved aside. "Too late," crowed Mara, one of the more "friendly" barmaids. She'd vowed to have each of the knights eventually. There was a rather vicious betting pool at the moment; Vanora led the ladies who were sure Mara'd only get her claws into Lancelot. She had, of course, and now was focusing on Tristan.

She sighed as she watched the other girl flounce toward Sir Tristan's end of the table. With Mara on the prowl, it seemed less and less likely that she'd even get near the scout. She shook her head, preparing to return to wiping down the tables. A new set of shrieks caught her attention, and she laughed out loud. Apparently Mara had flounced a bit too near for the hawk's comfort. Mara was now in hysterics, and Sir Tristan's attention was focused solely on calming the large hawk.

She watched for a moment more. Sir Tristan was ignoring the food. She bit her lip, considering and then spun to the kitchen. The cook raised his eyebrows at what she asked, but finally handed her the platter, as she requested. She balanced the tray and headed back out to the tables.

She took care to approach slowly on the far side of the table to give the hawk time to accept her presence. Drawing near to the knight, she set the tray at his elbow. "Sir, for your lady…" she said, nodding to the hawk. She ignored the other knights' shouts of laughter and Bors' typically lewd suggestion, waiting to see what Sir Tristan might say.

He merely glanced at the heaping tray of raw strips of rabbits, and then up at her, dark eyes considering. Slowly, he nodded, and reached for one of the strips, delicately handing it to the bright hawk.

She smiled to herself; she hadn't expected the more effusive gratitude the other knights might have granted her. She only hoped Sir Tristan might take note of the young woman who'd seen to his hawk. She turned to return to her duties, but a touch on her wrist stopped her. She glanced down to see the knight's deadly hand wrapped around her wrist. She trembled; the touch was almost devastatingly gentle.

"Hey." She lifted her eyes at his rough voice. "Her name," he nodded slightly toward the hawk, "it's Isolde." He held her gaze and her wrist just a moment more before releasing her. It was that moment (even more than Gawain's surprised exclamation that he'd never guess the featherhead had a name) that told her what a gift the words were.

She smiled and nodded, moving from the table as the knight returned to his "lady's" care. "I knew you were a smart one," Vanora mentioned, softly, coming up behind her. She grinned at the younger maid. "I doubt Mara would agree, though." The pair laughed together, as they watched the knights. Vanora suddenly sighed, "Oh my… That's enough to make me wish I had feathers." The younger woman followed her gaze to Sir Tristan. He was softly stroking Isolde's breast feathers with the crook of one finger.

She bit her lip, and tried to ignore Vanora's knowing look. Lancelot's voice caught her attention at that moment. "Tristan, you continue cosseting that bird, and she's likely to be the only lady you have anytime soon," he called out mockingly.

Tristan replied mildly, "You think so, then." After a moment, he lifted his gaze purposefully to her own, still softly caressing his hawk. She felt herself blush and ducked her head in an attempt to avoid his intense gaze.

"Oh, would that I had feathers," she whispered to herself.


	2. The Horse

**(Since I can't remember if I put it on the first chapter- I hereby state that I do not own any of the King Arthur movie, myths, or legends. I am, however, attempting to purchase Tristan via ebay.)**

**Man! I'm so hugely blown away by all the reviews, story alerts, and faves this has gotten so far! Yall seriously made my day with every single email I got! I've tried to keep all yall's suggestions in mind regarding our "everywoman's" character as well as Tristan's. **

**This chapter ended up quite a bit longer than the first, but I really wanted it to flow.** **I hope you all enjoy it!**

She stormed out of the tavern kitchen before her temper truly snapped. She scowled up at the dreary clouds, fairly sure they were there simply to insult her. Gods knew everyone else seemed to be. She skirted around the fortress buildings, hoping to avoid the unwanted attention her appearance had been gaining in the tavern.

"Stupid Romans. Stupid Mara. Stupid stupid children!" she muttered to herself. She reached her destination and slouched against the fence unhappily. It had been a truly wretched day, all because of a seemingly harmless request. Vanora needed to do her brood's washing, a task that could easily take all day even without her bastards romping around, and had asked, no begged, the younger tavern wench to mind the children for her. In exchange, Vanora would wash the few skirts and shirts that her friend needed done.

It had seemed a reasonable bargain, until 5 and 6, in an attempt to use their new victim, or "friend," as a shield from each other in a rather violent game of tag, had ripped her old battered skirt from its hem clear up the side. Needless to say, it had been mortifying, even more so as the rainy day meant none of her skirts nor Vanora's were dry enough to wear and somehow all they'd found for her were an old pair of breeches.

"Breeches," she growled. Shaking her head, she reached into the apron she still wore in a faint attempt at modesty and pulled out an apple and a small knife. Carefully cutting a few slices, she glanced out over the fence and into the small pasture that held the knights' gorgeous horses. She knew little about them, of course; serving wenches rating far to low on society's scale to ever actually own a horse. Still, they soothed her, and gods knew she needed soothing today. "Here!" she called, holding the slices through the fence. "Here then, my beauties."

She felt more than foolish as the big grey nearest her merely lifted his head and snorted. Horses liked apples, didn't they? She was fairly sure they were a treat to them, so why did they avoid her? She sighed, "You're just like your blasted rider…" For therein lied the other root of her frustration. "Stupid knight." It had been weeks since he'd told her the hawk's name, and yet nothing had changed. He'd neither spoken to her again, nor touched her, merely stared at her with the same haunting intensity. Which was frustrating in an entirely different manner.

"He won't come to you." The rough voice had her jumping in alarm and nearly stabbing herself with the blade. Flustered, she glared up at the scout. He merely held her gaze, and repeated his statement.

"He won't…" She paused and her anger finally boiled over. "Well, fine! Then I shall find myself somewhere else to be, if even the horses are tired of my presence!" She spun, fully intending to leave the infuriating scout out in the rain. Instead, she once again found her wrist caught up in his rather firm grasp.

"Come, then," he spoke and all but dragged her through the fence posts and out into the pasture, whistling shrilly as he did. She stumbled past him and after finding her feet, turned to shout at him when the sound of thundering hooves caught her attention. She turned back to see the big grey galloping toward them.

"Merciful…" she backpedaled hoping to escape the animal, who she was sure was much larger on this side of the fence, and slammed back into the unmovable wall that was Tristan. She glanced up at him fearfully only to see his lips twitching. Was he laughing at her? The thought was enough to surprise away both her fright and her anger, and she looked back toward the horse. The stallion had come to a halt only a few steps away and now pranced around a bit, sniffing at the air.

"He doesn't know you, eh?" The scout's breath teased at her ear and she found herself shivering at it. "Give 'im the apple now." She held out one of the slices with trembling fingers. The scout grunted, "Not like that, eh." He reached out and grasped her hand, flattening it till the apple lay cradled in her palm. Her hand was cradled in his. She had only a moment to register that enticing fact before the horse was sniffing at her hand, and then gingerly taking the apple. She giggled; the whiskers of his nose tickling her hand. Shyly, she reached out and stroked his nose with her other hand.

She glanced back up as he spoke again, surprised he'd speak to her this much. "For him, a stranger is the enemy." He licked his lips absently, and she found herself biting her own. He continued, apparently unaware of the effect he was having on her. "Now that he knows you, he'll come, eh?"

With that, he released her hand and moved back through the fence, leaving her more than a bit bemused. His horse nudged her with his nose, recapturing her attention. She laughed as he began to lip the pocket with the rest of the apple.

"Cheeky beggar." Another laugh had her turning to the fence. Sir Gawain leaned easily on fence watching her.

He cocked his head and studied her for a moment, before speaking. "He's a wild one, you know. Once you win his trust, though, then, now then, he will come if you call." She stroked the horse absently.

"That's what Sir Tristan told me," she replied with a shy grin.

Gawain laughed again, this time surprising her. "My dear girl, I was not referring to the horse." He chuckled at her blank expression, and left her alone with the stallion and her thoughts.

**That's it for this installment. There will be at least 1, if not 2 more chapters to "Gentled." After that, I've got a couple Tristan/OC fics I may attempt. We'll just have to see!**

**And remember kiddies, reviews are love! While not "bribe worthy," they do definitely help inspire me to write!**


	3. The Man

**And on to the next installment! Big huge MASSIVE thanks to all of you for faving/adding/commenting/loving on this story. It's definitely blowing me away that Gentled has almost reached the highest number of reviews I've ever gotten here! Anyway, this chapter really was a pain to get out of my head and on to paper as I really wanted to avoid some of the cliches I've seen with this kind of scene. Here's hoping I pulled it off!**

**BTW, in case you really haven't gotten it yet- Tristan, the knights, all of that- NOT MINE! pouts**

She slipped through the crowd of drunken men to one particular table, moving gracefully in an attempt not to dump wine or ale on any of the customers. Still, despite the crowd, she grinned as she filled the goblets at the table in question, jumping nimbly aside as Lancelot attempted to draw her into his lap yet again. The knights were home, this time assigned as 'peacekeepers' for the massive summer market and festival.

"My dear, why do you deny me yet again?" Lancelot smirked. She merely rolled her eyes and moved back through the crowd, barely catching his next comment about teasing wenches in men's clothing. She laughed to herself at that, musing that she might indeed seem be a tease dressing as she did. After all, she'd kept the breeches.

That was Tristan's fault, of course. She supposed most of her decisions were, lately though she couldn't prove it, drat him. Blaming him for the breeches, at least, Vanora agreed with. After all, it had only been his comment that had convinced her. She'd taken to working during the days in the stable, helping Jols with grooming and feeding Tristan's mount, along with Gawain and Dag's mounts. The knights hadn't seemed to mind, and gods knew, the extra wage was a help to her. In time, wearing the breeches for such dirty work had made perfect sense. Jols and the knights had grown to ignore the way she dressed as long as their mounts were content. Or at least, she assumed they did.

She'd been brushing the big grey one afternoon, when that assumption was rather surprisingly disproved. She'd thought she was alone until she'd been suddenly lifted up and tossed onto the stallion's back. "Gods cursed- Tristan?" The scout had been standing right beside her, a hand stroking the horse to calm him. She clung to the horse's mane, finding nothing else to hang onto as she glared down what seemed to be a vast height. "Tristan, why- I don't know how to ride!" He'd merely smirked.

"Then you'll learn, eh?" And so she had, as Tristan had led his mount and its reluctant rider about the stable and paddock. In an hour that had felt like days, she began to feel as if she might grow more comfortable, even without reins or saddle. Later, when Tristan had finally allowed her to return to the stable, she'd found herself in his arms, as he carefully lowered her from the horse's back. "There, was that so bad?" He'd leaned in, and she'd thought he was going to kiss her, but Galahad had burst onto the scene. A glare from Tristan sent him scampering back out again, but the moment had passed. She'd sighed and backed away carefully, expecting Tristan to leave. He did, but only after another quick smirk, "Clever those." She'd been rather perplexed to see him nod to her legs. "Can't ride in skirts."

Thus, she'd kept wearing them, despite the drunken advances they sometimes attracted when she worked in the tavern. She figured it was worth it to see the scout following her with his eyes as she moved through the room. That intense gaze had a tendency to leave her feeling quite as intoxicated as the men she served. It was distracting as hell. She smiled and allowed herself to glance up from the table she served to find his eyes. That moment of distraction proved itself to be one too many.

"There's a wench fo' ya, mate!" A bark of laughter sounded as she found herself pulled into the lap of one of the men she didn't recognize. Probably one of the merchants in for the festival, she thought. Regardless of who he was, she was not staying in his lap. She shook her head and tried to slide back to his feet. "Where you goin'?" he drawled, tightening his hands on her hips and dragging her forward for a kiss. She slapped him hard in response. The man went red. "Why you little trollop…" He pulled one of his hands back, and she flinched knowing he was about to hit her.

"Tristan…" she couldn't help the whimper as the merchant's hand descended toward her. A flash and a heavy thunk startled them both. A knife had pinned the man's tunic to the table. He jumped, dumping her into a heap on the floor. Strong hands pulled her gently to her feet and held tight to her shoulders, as the merchant looked on with something akin to horror. The tavern had grown suddenly quiet, and she heard her rescuer speak.

"Next time," Tristan's voice was almost casual, belying the menace she knew lay beneath to words, "it will be your hand." He reached around her and plucked the dagger from the table before pulling her with him to the side, obviously dismissive of the other man. Tristan turned her to face him, and lifted her chin gently with the crook of his finger. "Alright?" She met his gaze and nodded slightly. "Good," he whispered, leaning in to brush her lips with his own. Dimly, she wondered if she'd actually heard a triumphant whoop from the knights' table. Ignoring it, Tristan leaned back and searched her face, then suddenly jerked her back to kiss her again fiercely. He pulled away just a suddenly. "Go on, then." He nodded back toward the once again raucous tavern and released her to return to his spot by the wall.

She brushed her fingers across her lips, and looked up to see Vanora winking from Bor's lap. Lancelot was shaking his head and pressing what appeared to be a substantial amount of coin into Gawain's outstretched hand. Had the cheeky blond actually bet on her and Tristan? She laughed out loud and moved to return to her duties, after shooting one last glance over her shoulder at her knight.

**Only one more to go with this one! I hope yall've enjoyed it so far! Reviews as always are love!**

**BTW, I'm considering a "self insertion" style fic along with my other OC options. Mostly cuz I KNOW it's not possible for me to be a Mary Sue and it sounds like a fun exercise. I'd still be doing another featuring either a seer or my take on Isolde. Thoughts on any of these?**


	4. The Woman

**This is it my dears! The final installment. I hope it lives up to expectations!**

The guards at the wall had sighted the knights a bare hour before, and now she finally set aside the curry comb she was using on a spare mount. She stretched, easing out the kinks in her back from the long day working in the stables and strode across the stable to the door leading out to the courtyard. Vanora was already present with her brood of bastards, lining the gate and watching fearfully. It had been one of their longest missions, nearly a month, and most of those left at the fort had grown more than a bit worried.

"Heya, they should be close," she called out, glad to see the redhead try to smile for her. "It shouldn't be long now." She leaned back against the stable door, partly hidden in the shadows and settled in to wait the few more moments it would take her scout to arrive. She knew Vanora would be shaking her head at her chosen post. It just wasn't her way to wait out in the open with her heart on her sleeve as Bors's lover did. If the worst came, and Tristan did not ride through that gate, she wanted to at least have a brief moment to mourn alone.

She fingered a long slender braid just beneath her left ear and forced the dark thoughts away. That braid had been the first of many now scattered through her hair. It had appeared as if by magic the morning after her first night with the handsome scout. He'd apparently plaited it there as she slept, hands so gentle that she'd never even stirred.

She'd left it, of course, and had grinned at the other knights' amusing expressions. Gawain had quipped "Riding, breeches, a proper mess of your hair. I do believe our scout will make a barbarian out of you, yet." She had to admit she hoped so.

If the braids were any indication, she was well on her way to it. She'd stopped counting their number at five, and now simply bundled the mass into one large knot, or used two of the longest to tie it all back into a tail. All but that first one, anyway. That one she kept loose.

She clutched at it now, as the thunder of hoof beats warned of the knights' arrival. She leaned out a bit from the doorway and silently counted the approaching horses. After a moment, she sighed slumping back against the wall in relief. All had returned. In an almost instant shift of mood, she grinned and pulled herself further back into shadow. She stilled, as the knights rode into the courtyard. It was time for one of her favorite games.

The knights were in fine form, all apparently healthy and accounted for. Their shouts of laughter restored the life that was always missed at the fort when they left on patrol or one of Rome's missions. To her left, Bors and Vanora dove into their ritual of violence (on Vanora's part) and worship (on Bors's) ending in a ridiculously passionate embrace. Near the courtyard's center, Galahad and Gawain were lapping up the attentions of their respective wenches as they so obviously believed were their due. And there- she froze completely, her eyes locked on the only silent form in the courtyard.

Tristan was scanning the courtyard as carefully as he ever did the woods while on patrol. The only difference- she was his quarry this time. She couldn't say just when the game had started, but it had become one she greatly enjoyed. "Greatly enjoy indeed," she whispered absently. Tristan's head shot up, and he stared directly at her. She bit her lip, suppressing a giggle as she realized she'd given herself away.

She took a few careful steps out of the shadows and actually into the courtyard. Tristan had loosed Isolde off of his arm and was dismounting slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. That was the look, she mused, that kept her soaring inside. Still staring, he gave his stallion to Jols and strode deliberately toward her. She heard the commander's call for her scout to report in and Lancelot's laugh he might as well leave it a while, but they were quickly drowned out by the pounding in her chest. He reached her, and tilted her chin up in that so familiar gesture with the crook of his finger.

"Where you been, then?" he crooned softly, cocking his head to study her face. "When you been, eh?" She didn't answer, instead lifting her face up to his for a kiss. All was well again- her lover was home. The pair continued their embrace, ignoring all around them.

Including a very sulky Mara, who was heard to mutter, "I don't understand it. He just treats her like that blasted bird."

**Welp, there it is! I hope all of you liked it as much as I did! I just wanted to say one last thank you to everyone who left such awesome comments and added me to their lists and alerts. It made me smile every time I got an email.. seriously it did!**

**I'm not disappearing or anything though! I'm going to get started on that self insertion pretty quick and possibly the seer tale as well. I've decided that Isolde's story may end up being a one shot- if only because I can see one scene and nothing else. I think it will work on it's own! I hope to see yall back to read my new stuff too! hug**


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